


King of Wishful Thinking

by Janina



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Post-Break Up, he's so dramatic, jaime is a mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:26:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25758802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Janina/pseuds/Janina
Summary: Sansa dumped Jaime. He's not handling it well. But he thinks he is.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Sansa Stark
Comments: 9
Kudos: 111





	King of Wishful Thinking

**Author's Note:**

> I was revisiting my teen years today and decided to try my hand at writing a ficlet based around a song. This is it.

Jaime Lannister got out of bed, determined to have a good day. Even if his head felt as though a marching band was clanging around in there. He’d had a little too much wine the night before, that was all. 

So what if Sansa broke up with him the night before? So what if they’d had a stupid fight over stupid Jon Snow? He was older, wiser, and it was best to nip these things in the bud. He was far older than she was, and it was high time he started to think seriously about settling down anyway. Sansa was too young for him, twenty years too young and even if she was mature for her age and had a good head on her shoulders - _except_ when it came to Jon Snow - she was young and inexperienced. 

(He did like to think he had definitely taught her a few things. _Sexual_ things.)

But, she wouldn’t see that Jon was angling to break them up - the young and annoying man - boy - had more than once attempted to divide them even though he liked to think Sansa could have figured that out, she clearly had not. 

So it was done and over with and he felt nothing. He was perfectly fine. Perfectly over it. He did not feel like sobbing in the shower, which he was on his way to take, and he did not feel like putting on some Morrissey or any of The Smiths. He was fine. 

Capital F. Capital I. Capital N. Capital E. 

F I N E

So what if at the sight of her brush and razor on his bathroom sink he felt like someone was squeezing his chest. He should probably see a doctor. When was the last time he had a physical anyway?

In the shower, he was met with her body wash and his knees grew weak. 

His blood sugar was low. He just needed to eat. His head pounded and his stomach roiled. 

Maybe some Tylenol first. 

(If he could keep it down.)

He grabbed the wash and did not lift it to his face to smell it. It was too flowery for him anyway. And he definitely didn’t sniff at her like a bloodhound when she washed herself with it. 

Instead, he lifted the bottle and heaved it over the glass. It was probably best to get rid of it. He didn’t need any of her things lingering around. 

Whistling - not at all to drown out any thought of missing her, he was just in a _good mood_ \- he got out of the shower and dressed for the day. 

He made to go to the window and open the shades to let in the sun, but opted against it. He liked the darkness; he didn’t need the sun. Sansa was the one who liked to let the light in. He didn’t care. 

He liked it dark. Just like his soul. 

Heading down the stairs, he went to the kitchen to make himself some coffee and thought about how he could now get cream with fat in it and not that fat free flavored shit she liked. He didn’t need his coffee to taste like a goddamn cookie. 

(Even if it was delicious.)

He considered opening the curtains to the balcony, and perhaps opening the door to his balcony on the fifth floor of Lannister Towers, but decided against it. He didn’t light _or_ fresh air. In fact, he simply didn’t want it. Just because he and Sansa had once liked to sit outside and have breakfast together on his balcony didn’t mean he had to keep doing it. He preferred the inside. 

He opened the fridge and went to grab some coconut water to take his Tylenol with and felt a sting in his eyes. Dust probably. Shae, his cleaner, was scheduled to come out the following afternoon. He’d be sure to mention the dust. 

Instead of taking coconut water, he slammed the door shut, ignoring the clanging of condiments hitting each other inside, and went for a glass in his cupboard. 

Good old fashioned water, that’s what he’d have. 

He paused at the sight of the water purifier Sansa had installed and he pondered how to dismantle it because he _didn’t need it or want it_. If he wanted hidden bacteria and deadly minerals or whatever to kill him, then that was his right. _Give me water and give me death!_ he thought. 

His head reminded him he was in pain, so he filled the glass and reached for the Tylenol in the cabinet above the sink. 

He swallowed hard at the sight of Sansa’s daily vitamins next to his. He snorted - and regretted it immediately - and reached for the Tylenol. He slammed the cabinet door shut and ignored the sound of a bottle tipping over. 

Instead, he downed 3 Tylenol and took a long sip of water.

While he waited for his coffee to finish, he made his way through his living room, stepping over the empty bottle, careful to keep away from the broken glass, and trampled through the clothes he’d left on the floor. 

When he heard a crack, he looked down and groaned when he found he’d stepped on a Smiths jewel case. Yes, he still had CD’s, even if Sansa had introduced him to Spotify and he quite liked it. 

He liked good old CD’s too, _dammit_. 

He picked it up and hurled it across the room, ignoring the sound of it hitting the wall. He really hadn’t mean to throw it that hard. He just wanted it out of his way. 

Jaime went to the remote in the middle of the floor and picked it up. He must have hit the play button for his CD player because it blared to life. 

_I’ll get over you  
I know I will  
I’ll pretend my ship’s not sinking  
And I’ll tell myself I’m over you  
Because I’m the king of wishful thinking._

He closed his eyes tight and tried not to think about what it looked like when she walked out the door. The image of her walking away from him and out of his life. 

He marched over to the CD player and slammed it off. He hit it a little too hard and it fell to the floor in a loud crash. 

He growled and set his water down to pick up the player when there were two knocks on his door. He paused, bent over. 

Who the fuck would be here this early in the morning? Not even his brother rolled out of bed during a work week before 8. 

“Jaime? It’s me.”

He bolted upright. 

Sansa!

He nearly fell over the rug that was flipped over, and then a pair of her shoes that he may have been holding onto last night while drinking. 

He opened the door quickly and there she was, tears in her blue eyes, her nose red, and her hair pulled up in a ponytail with strands falling down everywhere. She was in sweats and she just looked so _awful_.

And gorgeous and perfect and like the fucking goddamn sun - 

Jaime dropped to his knees and wrapped his arms around her middle. “I’m a goddamn mess.” 

She sniffled and ran her fingers through his hair. “You don’t look it.”

“Looks can be deceiving.”

“I don’t want to be broken up, Jaime. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t either,” he said, his voice cracking. “And I’m sorry, too.”

“I love you,” she whispered. 

And with that, the tension he’d held in his body since he’d gotten up whoosed out of him and Jaime allowed himself a good cry.

**Author's Note:**

> I was just going to end it with him dropping to his knees before her but then I was like...maybe I should give them a happy ending.


End file.
